Fly

Fly crawls over the page
of a planner full of schedules,
desolate of plans. Nothing comes
out of it.  Nothing (let me name it
air, and it sits still) rests smugly
and stares back nonchalant.

Fly misses feeding on the ink
of names and numbers scribbled hastily.
Boxes of supplements clamor
departure from their cabinets.
Bank accounts require more zeroes
to follow a prime.
Air sits still, probably smiles.

Fly remains, pressing its legs on paper.
I follow my trail of thought into the dark.
Sometimes a page tells a story
so clear by remaining blank,
or a phone tells more information
keeping calm.

changed title, 01/16/2012.